It is so self-conscious, so apparently moral, simply to step aside from the gaps where the creeks and winds pour down, saying, I never merited this grace, quite rightly, and then to sulk along the rest of your days on the edge of rage. I won’t have it. The world is wilder than that in all directions, more dangerous and bitter, more extravagant and bright.
[Annie Dillard]
The city’s workers have redone both of the streets I live on (we’re on a corner), and the new pavement has a dark gleam that makes me wonder, almost every time I look out the window, whether it has rained. (It hasn’t, though it thundered earlier. I would be delighted if it poured.)